Regrets
by TheSongMaker
Summary: Stuart realizes his mistakes. Stuart/Skeeter
1. Stuart

This is the beginning of a little fic I've been writing. It probably won't be more than four/five short chapters. I felt like Stuart got the short end of the stick in the book. His character deserved some actual closure. Please review with constructive criticism. I'd actually like know if you like my writing style.

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><p><em>Stuart<em>

I walked away from her and drove until I hit the gulf. I sat there with my head on the steering wheel with the ring still gripped in my

hand. All of my anger had been spent and only hurt and regret remained. She lied to me over and over again. _Lied. _I'd loved her for

her honesty and her courage, but she didn't trust me. Was I only a distraction? A way to prove to he mother and her friends that she

was just as good as them? I'd been willing to be with her forever. I'd given my heart, my trust and been proved wrong again.

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><p>I worked on the oil rig. I worked until I couldn't move another muscle. When I wasn't working, I drank myself to a point where I<p>

didn't care. I laughed at her and all her grand ambitions. I laughed at myself for being so naïve. The laughter was only a way to keep

back the tears. Finally, the truth came crashing down. I'd overreacted. I'd thrown away the only thing that would ever make me

happy. She was right not to tell me; she knew how I felt about the civil rights movement. She'd heard my curse them all. Every time

I'd taken my frustration out over Patricia's betrayal, I'd put a nail in my own coffin.

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><p>The next time I was on shore, I saw her book. That little blue book called my name. I'd picked it up and payed for it before I could<p>

stop myself. Skeeter oozed from every word. How could anyone not know she'd written this? It was as if someone had washed mud

from my eyes. I was a bigoted fool; we all were. I'd seen things like these happen, but I'd never thought twice about them. She was

_right _things couldn't stay the same. I suddenly understood why Patricia had left me. She was attracted to a fire, a passion that those

who saw how the world must change possessed. The same thing that had made me love Skeeter.

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><p>I went back to Jackson two weeks later full of determination to make her see why I'd acted like I had. Full of a determination to make<p>

her understand that I knew I was wrong. Determined to start again and prove myself worthy of her. I approached her door. I tried to

keep up my bravado, but I knew this wasn't going to be easy. I was an idiot to think she'd even see me. She was gone. Her mother

icily told me that she had been offered a job in New York and left a week before. Her words still rang in my mind,

_"Stuart, son, my daughter is much, much too good for someone like you. So I'd appreciate if you left her alone and allowed her to go_

on living her life."

She was right. I wasn't half good enough for Skeeter. She deserved someone with her same passion. What did I have to offer Skeeter

that could possibly compare to New York City? I only know one thing: I love her and she probably believes I hate her.


	2. Skeeter

_Skeeter_

I pushed Stuart to the back of my mind. Told myself over and over again that there were more important things to worry about than

being alone again. The book was selling well―_really_well―I don't need him to support me or to protect me from anything. When

Aibileen asked what I'd do if it came out that I wrote _Help, _I told her that things might be dangerous, but I can handle this on my

own. "If it comes out, I'll stand by what I wrote and I won't drag any of you into this." She only looked a little confused and nodded. I

knew just as well as she did that my answer wasn't what she wanted, but I needed to remind myself that I don't want and I don't

need Stuart there to stand by me.

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><p>Sometimes when I go into town and see Hilly or Elizabeth for just a second I forget that they hate me. Then I remember that to<p>

them Skeeter Phelan may as well be Cecilia Foote. I hear the whispers about Stuart and I everywhere. Untrue stories about how he'd

dumped me and why circulated everywhere. Of course, the most unbelievable story was circulated by Hilly.

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><p>"Well Skeeter had the gall to actually <em>cheat <em>on Stuart Whitworth. She was running around with some white trash while he was out

on the oil rig. I feel responsible too. I can't believe I thought the likes of her was worthy of my own husband's cousin." The girls

around her tittered and nodded in agreement. Every word Hilly Holbrook said was accepted like a verse outta bible.

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><p>She'd been well aware I was in the drug store too. She'd looked up and I'd seen the venom in her eyes. She was doing her very best<p>

to ruin whatever remained of my reputation. It stung that all those girls, who had at one time been her friends had turned on her so

completely. The true irony was actually believing that I had found another guy. They all knew that Stuart was the only guy to ever

actually looked twice at me.

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><p>My chance to leave my living purgatory <em>finally <em>came. I, Eugenia Phelan, was going to work for Harper & Row Publishing in New York

City! The idea of leaving mother just as our relationship improved tore me up inside, but both her and Daddy told me I had to go. I

wasn't the only one aware of how miserable my social situation in Jackson had became. In two weeks, I'd be leaving the shadow of

Hilly Holbrook behind forever. I'd also be leaving behind that little ember of hope that refused to be crush which told me that Stuart

would one day show up on my front porch like he had that night so long ago, take me in his arms, and tell me he loves me.


	3. Together

I think this is the last chapter. So enjoy and _please_ review.

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><p>It had been a very long day. Frankly, working for Harper &amp; Row wasn't all she thought it would be. How many times have she been sent to pick up something or<p>

make Miss Stein coffee today? I'm a writer not a errand-runner. She told herself over and over again. This is not was most definitely not what I came to New York

to do. Worst of all, it seemed like her inspiration was gone. Words no longer flew from her fingertips. It was as if the city stifled the very thing that made her

herself.

"Aghh." She grunted as the taxi made an abrupt stop at the end of her block.

"Not going any further. You'd better get out here."

She felt like shouting "_Fine. Be that way._" Instead, she stepped out of the cab, slammed the door and paid the rude cabi without including a tip. She meandered  
>down the street, her eyes downcast. She was terribly homesick and if she didn't look up at the tall buildings around here, then she could imagine she was walking<br>down the main street of Jackson.

"Your boss certainly isn't a romantic." Called a voice from the end of the street. A _beautiful_ voice with a southern lilt like her own.

"_Stuart,"_ she gasped. Her own voice sounding weak and pathetic in her ears. His was sitting on the stoop of her apartment building, a smile that was a little too  
>big spread across his face.<p>

"I had to beg her over and over again to give me your address. She said I should face you at the office, but I'm not sure how well I'd handle rejection in public."

"Rejection?" Her mind was still reeling. Part of her wondered why she was still standing a half a block away from him.

"Well, that's all I came here expecting. I'd be quite the jackass if I thought I could show up on your front steps a third time and be forgiven. But I just had to try,  
>Skeeter. I had to try to win you back even if I knew I was fighting a losing battle."<p>

She could see his confident facade falling. He was eying the distance between them and looking a little bit green. She wanted to rush to him and burry her head  
>in his chest, but she felt like her feet were rooted to the ground.<p>

He looked up at her from under his long lashes, begging her with his eyes, "Will you come a little closer, Skeeter? I can't see what you're thinking."

She tried to move, but a sudden fear overtook her: if I move, he'll disappear because these kind of things only happen in stories.

"Do you want me to leave?"

"No." She shouted it inside, but it came out sounding weak and undecided.

"Then why so quiet? I've never known you to have nothing to say to me. I'd at least expected to tell me what a horrible person I am. Maybe ask me if I was born  
>stupid or if I was dropped on my head as a child?"<p>

"You remember that?" She laughed in spite of herself, "I thought you were too drunk to think coherently."

"No. I remember every single word you said to me that night. I played them all back in my head for weeks. I wasn't sure if I felt like scoffing at you or if I was

impressed. Finally I came to a conclusion. Wanna know what it was?"

"What?"

"I need that girl in my life. I _want_that girl who has words that cut like a knife and curly red-hair. Hilly just thinks she made me go apologize. I came to town with

that very purpose in mind, but it's always better to let Hilly live in her delusions than to fight with her. And I have to admit that if I could say that she convinced

me to apologize and I didn't actually want to, then I could pretend that the possible rejection didn't hurt."

At his words, she felt a little bit of her old self coming back. That sassy girl hadn't been seen in New York. It was all "Yes Ma'am, no Ma'ams." Here. She was too

busy thinking about keeping her job to be herself.

"What are you doing here, Stuart?" She stopped his monologue abruptly. She wanted his intentions plainly stated.

He gave her a quizzical look and looked at the ground. She could see a blush creeping up his cheeks.

"Well. I came her because I love you, I was an idiot to leave like I did, and I seemed to have taken this with me when I left and I thought you'd better have it."

He dug in his pocket and then held a ring out to her.

"I don't have any use for it and I think it'd look pretty on your hand." He still hadn't looked up from his hand and hadn't noticed her walking forward.

"I asked you a question several months ago that you never gave me an answer to. I didn't exactly give you a chance either. But." He stopped shook his head and then dropped to one knee in the middle of the street. "Eugenia Phelan, will you marry me?" He looked up and locked eyes with Skeeter, who was standing directly in front of him. The seconds ticked on and suddenly she could see something like grief spreading across his face.

"Stuart," she said as if she was his mother and he'd just done something bad with good intentions. "Don't you think you're moving a tad fast right now? The last time you asked me this question, I was a different girl and you didn't even know me then—not really."

"No. Skeeter. Answer my question. I know what I want and I know that that girl is you, but if you want me to leave then just say the word."

"Stu-"

He cut her off and said desperately, "I love you. It took storming off into the night and reading your book to realize how much, but I know now."

"You read my book?"

"Yes. Cover to cover. You're right. Things are changing, things need to change. People should _not_ be allowed to treat another person like that. Those women," He looked up her defiantly, as if he dared her to doubt his words, "they're definitely more human than Hilly Holbrook and her gaggle of geese."

"You read my book."

"Skeeter, I'm kneeling in the dirt here. Please give me and answer."

All the feelings of the past six months or more rushed back to her. The anger and the resentment were both overshadowed by the longing and the emptiness. She loved Stuart. She knew that more clearly now looking at his kneeling in the dirt facing complete embarrassment, condemning his own way of life, than she'd ever before.

She grabbed his hands and pulled him to his feet. "Will you take me back to Mississippi?"

"I'll take you wherever you want to go. But Skeeter, please say that that is a yes."

"Yes, yes it is."

There before the front steps of her New York City apartment, Stuart Whitworth Jr. took her in his arms, kissed her, and murmured words of love into her hair. I, Skeeter Phelan, am the luckiest girl in the world. Sometimes dreams really _do_ come true.


	4. Author's Note

**Author's Note.**

So I contemplated writing another chapter, but I think that the last chapter brought things to a satisfying close and my inspiration in relation to this story seems to have come to an end. I really hate to be whiny, but I would greatly appreciate at least one or two reviews. This story has has over 200 reads and no reviews. I'd really like to know if someone actually likes my writing or has any constructive criticism.


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